Sir Edward Downes has died aged 85
Photo: Camera Press
Ted will be remembered for many things but I think his abilities focused on two repertory areas. He had a profound understanding of the role of the orchestra in Verdi’s operas and it’s no exaggeration to call him a great Verdi conductor - albeit one of conservative sympathies who wasn’t beyond pulling out of a production because he didn’t like what some radical director was doing on the stage. He told me once that the sole consolation of losing his sight (it was retreating, then, into a sort of tunnel vision) was that he wouldn’t have to see what was going on in front of him.
His other supreme expertise was Russian music; and to hear Ted Downes talk through a piece of rare Prokofiev or a Shostakovich film score was a privilege. The combination of scholarship and practical know-how was unique in my experience, and never to be forgotten.
One other thing I won’t forget, though, was travelling with Ted and Joan on a bizarre trip to Oman, courtesy of HM Government. It was the anniversary of some bloodless revolution which had put the Sultan on the throne, and HMG had asked him what he’d like as a present to mark the occasion.
Being an Anglophile who’d trained at Sandhurst and liked bagpipes, he apparently said he wanted a BBC orchestra conducted by a knight of the realm. So out went the BBC Philharmonic with, inter alia, Sir Edward Downes. Plus wife. Plus me as a music-critic/hanger-on.
My function was largely to visit the Sultan’s new conservatoire in the middle of the desert where he encouraged young Omanis to play the violin by giving them a car when they passed Grade 8 (it’s a benign regime, Oman). The idea was that I’d report back what I’d found, in favourable terms; and if I couldn’t find anything favourable to say, a neutral phrase like ‘coming along nicely’ was suggested.
Ted’s job, obviously, was to conduct the BBC Phil - at a celebration concert in a smart hotel. But the Sultan, as was his custom, kept us all waiting for what I remember as several hours before he finally appeared in a shower of rose petals and sat behind us on a throne.
The interesting thing was that he had a man in a dark suit beside him sitting on a lesser throne: clearly the guest of honour. I happened to be sitting next to Joan Downes and asked her (in a whisper) who it was. She replied (loudly) that she didn’t know but it was probably the Sultan’s boyfriend (he was rumoured to have male lovers).
Sitting in front of us, though, was the British ambassador whose face drained of colour as he turned round and stared in obvious surprise at the occupant of the lesser throne. ‘That’s not a boyfriend’, he said to Joan. ‘That’s Jonathan Aitken’.
I never did find out what Aitken was doing there. But I do know that when I got back to Britain and a helpful person from the Foreign Office rang me to ask how everything went, he said to me with a degree of firmness: ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to write anything about Mr Aitken will you? After all, it’s hardly relevant to the music’.
RIP Ted and Joan Downes. [rc]
© Copyright of Telegraph Media Group Limited 2009
July 15, 2009
UK: The splendid Sir Edward Downes and a bizarre trip to Oman
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LONDON, England / The Telegraph / Culture / Music / July 15, 2009
By Michael White
It was deeply shocking to hear this morning about Edward Downes and his wife going to Switzerland for assisted suicides.
I hadn’t had contact with them for several years, but I knew them a little and liked them a lot. Ted was reserved, outwardly placid and retiring but inwardly resolute and principled: someone who, in the way of principled people, could be difficult and prickly but also someone who invariably promoted the music, not himself - which is perhaps why his career (although impressive) never shone with the glamour of some of his contemporaries.
And I can guess why he and his wife finally decided as they did. Virtually blind and increasingly deaf, Ted’s life had closed in on him. Joan was the most devoted of wives. They had reached old age and they saw no future for themselves. So, in a resolute and principled manner, they made a dignified if tragic exit.
Sir Edward Downes has died aged 85
Photo: Camera Press
Ted will be remembered for many things but I think his abilities focused on two repertory areas. He had a profound understanding of the role of the orchestra in Verdi’s operas and it’s no exaggeration to call him a great Verdi conductor - albeit one of conservative sympathies who wasn’t beyond pulling out of a production because he didn’t like what some radical director was doing on the stage. He told me once that the sole consolation of losing his sight (it was retreating, then, into a sort of tunnel vision) was that he wouldn’t have to see what was going on in front of him.
His other supreme expertise was Russian music; and to hear Ted Downes talk through a piece of rare Prokofiev or a Shostakovich film score was a privilege. The combination of scholarship and practical know-how was unique in my experience, and never to be forgotten.
One other thing I won’t forget, though, was travelling with Ted and Joan on a bizarre trip to Oman, courtesy of HM Government. It was the anniversary of some bloodless revolution which had put the Sultan on the throne, and HMG had asked him what he’d like as a present to mark the occasion.
Being an Anglophile who’d trained at Sandhurst and liked bagpipes, he apparently said he wanted a BBC orchestra conducted by a knight of the realm. So out went the BBC Philharmonic with, inter alia, Sir Edward Downes. Plus wife. Plus me as a music-critic/hanger-on.
My function was largely to visit the Sultan’s new conservatoire in the middle of the desert where he encouraged young Omanis to play the violin by giving them a car when they passed Grade 8 (it’s a benign regime, Oman). The idea was that I’d report back what I’d found, in favourable terms; and if I couldn’t find anything favourable to say, a neutral phrase like ‘coming along nicely’ was suggested.
Ted’s job, obviously, was to conduct the BBC Phil - at a celebration concert in a smart hotel. But the Sultan, as was his custom, kept us all waiting for what I remember as several hours before he finally appeared in a shower of rose petals and sat behind us on a throne.
The interesting thing was that he had a man in a dark suit beside him sitting on a lesser throne: clearly the guest of honour. I happened to be sitting next to Joan Downes and asked her (in a whisper) who it was. She replied (loudly) that she didn’t know but it was probably the Sultan’s boyfriend (he was rumoured to have male lovers).
Sitting in front of us, though, was the British ambassador whose face drained of colour as he turned round and stared in obvious surprise at the occupant of the lesser throne. ‘That’s not a boyfriend’, he said to Joan. ‘That’s Jonathan Aitken’.
I never did find out what Aitken was doing there. But I do know that when I got back to Britain and a helpful person from the Foreign Office rang me to ask how everything went, he said to me with a degree of firmness: ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to write anything about Mr Aitken will you? After all, it’s hardly relevant to the music’.
RIP Ted and Joan Downes. [rc]
© Copyright of Telegraph Media Group Limited 2009
Sir Edward Downes has died aged 85
Photo: Camera Press
Ted will be remembered for many things but I think his abilities focused on two repertory areas. He had a profound understanding of the role of the orchestra in Verdi’s operas and it’s no exaggeration to call him a great Verdi conductor - albeit one of conservative sympathies who wasn’t beyond pulling out of a production because he didn’t like what some radical director was doing on the stage. He told me once that the sole consolation of losing his sight (it was retreating, then, into a sort of tunnel vision) was that he wouldn’t have to see what was going on in front of him.
His other supreme expertise was Russian music; and to hear Ted Downes talk through a piece of rare Prokofiev or a Shostakovich film score was a privilege. The combination of scholarship and practical know-how was unique in my experience, and never to be forgotten.
One other thing I won’t forget, though, was travelling with Ted and Joan on a bizarre trip to Oman, courtesy of HM Government. It was the anniversary of some bloodless revolution which had put the Sultan on the throne, and HMG had asked him what he’d like as a present to mark the occasion.
Being an Anglophile who’d trained at Sandhurst and liked bagpipes, he apparently said he wanted a BBC orchestra conducted by a knight of the realm. So out went the BBC Philharmonic with, inter alia, Sir Edward Downes. Plus wife. Plus me as a music-critic/hanger-on.
My function was largely to visit the Sultan’s new conservatoire in the middle of the desert where he encouraged young Omanis to play the violin by giving them a car when they passed Grade 8 (it’s a benign regime, Oman). The idea was that I’d report back what I’d found, in favourable terms; and if I couldn’t find anything favourable to say, a neutral phrase like ‘coming along nicely’ was suggested.
Ted’s job, obviously, was to conduct the BBC Phil - at a celebration concert in a smart hotel. But the Sultan, as was his custom, kept us all waiting for what I remember as several hours before he finally appeared in a shower of rose petals and sat behind us on a throne.
The interesting thing was that he had a man in a dark suit beside him sitting on a lesser throne: clearly the guest of honour. I happened to be sitting next to Joan Downes and asked her (in a whisper) who it was. She replied (loudly) that she didn’t know but it was probably the Sultan’s boyfriend (he was rumoured to have male lovers).
Sitting in front of us, though, was the British ambassador whose face drained of colour as he turned round and stared in obvious surprise at the occupant of the lesser throne. ‘That’s not a boyfriend’, he said to Joan. ‘That’s Jonathan Aitken’.
I never did find out what Aitken was doing there. But I do know that when I got back to Britain and a helpful person from the Foreign Office rang me to ask how everything went, he said to me with a degree of firmness: ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to write anything about Mr Aitken will you? After all, it’s hardly relevant to the music’.
RIP Ted and Joan Downes. [rc]
© Copyright of Telegraph Media Group Limited 2009
